Tryfan, September 2006

Verdon in the evening

Gorges de Valbelle in the rain, Oct 2006

The Waddy at Pen Trwyn, Oct 2006

Verdon

Napoleon, Sylvia Plath, Robert Graves, the climbers in the Wasdale Head churchyard, Ian Curtis...

Ian Curtis's remains are in Macc cemetary just around the corner from my house. It's easy to visit them, no bother on a wet afternoon, and always interesting, if spooky, to see what manner of temporary shrine his devotees have erected to this unhappy man who seemed to articulate not just his own pain but so much of those around him.

It's impossible to walk around Macclesfield and not be conscious of the fact that he lived in a terraced house in the town, had a wife and child, and hanged himself at the age of 23, having contributed to a body of musical work that seems to grow in stature year on year. What once was an unbearably intense and depressing kind of music for young men to be making in 1980 has become a straight statement of what life is like for everyone all the time forever.

Ian Curtis was someone who sang 'What are you going to do when the novelty is gone?', and 'Someone take these dreams away / That point me to another day / A duel of personalities / That stretch all true reality / They keep calling me', and 'Mother I tried please believe me, I'm doing the best that I can. I'm ashamed of the things I've been put through, I 'm ashamed of the person I am', and

'A change of speed, a change of style.
A change of scene, with no regrets,
A chance to watch, admire the distance,
Still occupied, though you forget.
Different colours, different shades,
Over each mistakes were made.
I took the blame.
Directionless so plain to see,
A loaded gun wont set you free...
So you say'.


Each time I listen to Joy Division, and there have been gaps of many years, I grow more comfortable with their projection. On the one hand they were having fun, doing what they wanted to do, in a rock band. On the other, they happened to be fronted by a well-read singer who had progressive medical problems of epilepsy and concomitant depression, and was anyway interested in the darker sides of human psychology. This created a lyrical intensity that they chose not to back away from. And with post-punk values and sympathetic production, the band's questionable ability to play their instruments was explored as a probable advantage, rather than camouflaged as a possible weakness. They managed to generate from this a unique, sparse and sometimes gloomy soundscape that defined their much-imitated style. Imitators always fail though, because this style came from a deeper substance as if all their winds were blowing in the same direction at the same time, carving a complete identity from their short career.

A grand mausoleum in Paris, a hilltop village in Mallorca, a windswept Yorkshire chyurchyard, a modest kerbstone above a pot of ashes in Macclesfield, I happen to have visited these places. All just around the corner, eh Ian?

The most exciting thing that's happened to me in a fortnight is doing a boulder problem last Saturday. In the harsh but wonderful winter sun, at Back Forest near the Roaches.....

You hand-traverse around the lip of this overhang, feet stretched for hopeful smears under the roof, grasp for the jug out left, unlock the footwork sequence, slap wildy for the next break up, and haul sideways to a panting crimping finale on a vertical wall. Never more than 2 feet off the ground, but intense. V3, big grin.


In these days of downloads there's no need for b-sides anymore. But they were fun. The best b-side ever is 'Rain' by The Beatles. It's the flipside of Paperback Writer. A Lennon lyric uses the weather as a metaphor for life, espousing a live-in-the-moment worldview that's never too up when the sun shines but also never too down when the rain comes. Sun and rain are just states of mind.

McCartney's bass lead is crisp, George's arpegio guitar riffs weave in and out with deft economy, and the drum fills are among Ringo's finest.

There are time changes. There are vocal harmonies. Like much of 60's English psychedelia, it's short, sharp, smart, confident and fresh. This was 1966, and the group were routinely putting 20 ideas into songs that last under 3 minutes, then moving on. They were sparking on an upward curve of genius every day, and knew they had no need but to stop when the time was right, and not a moment later.

I'm not counting 'I am the Walrus' as a b-side, as it was on Magical Mystery Tour as well as backing Hello Goodbye, but if I did it would be second.

Both 'Rain' and 'Walrus' somehow manage to be even better than 'Fantastic Life' by The Fall, to be found on the b-side of 'Lie dream of a casino soul'. The Fall are as wonderful as the Beatles, but are much more frightening. Here the classic Fall line-up barrage the senses with an exceptionally potent slew of their usual pounding rhythmic punk trance. Mark E Smith is angry about something and he doesn't mind telling you about it. 'People tend to let you down, it's a swine - Fantastic life-ah!'

Incidently, Oasis's version of 'I am the Walrus' is pretty good, and their best track is also a b-side - 'Acquiesce'.